Something Old, Something New
by chezzababyx
Summary: The Raft-Newman School's elite are about to come face-to-face with their past, when former best friends Claire Lyons and Massie Block go toe-to-toe - all while under the watchful eye of gossip blogger, Madam 355, and the entire student body...  AU .
1. SUMMARY

**Something Old, Something New**  
_westchester's elite is about to come _  
_face to face with it's past misdeeds_

* * *

Summer has just begun for the students of the illustrious Raft-Newman School in Westchester, NY. Everything is as it should be for the school's precious young minds; particularly for Massie Block, reigning queen of the sophmore class, who intends to spend most of it buy the pool, enjoying the glory of her youth, and cementing her relationship with long-term boyfriend, Cam Fisher.

Massie is blissfully unaware that her former best friend, Claire Lyons, has returned to Westchester, after two long years at an exclusive Massachusetts boarding school. No one is sure why she left - she had the perfect life, the perfect family, and the perfect boyfriend after all - or why she's returned after such a long absence; naturally, the rumour mill is buzzing and abound with tall tales of parties gone awry, with many raising more even questions than providing answers.

The confusion is only fuelled by gossip monger and muck racker - not to mention, self-professed "Wicked Witch of Upstate New York" - Mistress 335, who reports her gossip on ; an anonymous blogger who documents the lives of Raft-Newman's A-crowd.

Amongst all of the uncertainty, two things are absolutely clear:

This can't bode well for Massie Block, who'll do _anything _to retain her top-dog position,

and,

When five pretty girls go head-to-head, things are _bound_ to get ugly...

* * *

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**MASSIE BLOCK:** has finally discovered the perfect balance between her personal and public lives, after spending the past two years perfecting her image and cementing her reputation amongst the who's who of Raft-Newman. Sometime best friend/arch nemesis of Claire Lyons, caught amidst rumours that a rift in their friendship sent Claire packing. Has dated Claire's ex-boyfriend, Cam Fisher, in the time that Claire has been gone, and thinks she has found 'the One'.

**CLAIRE LYONS:** Former 'It' girl, who left Westchester and Raft-Newman behind (seemingly overnight) for reasons unknown. Has changed dramatically over the past two years, discovering a new way of being that doesn't involve public representations and private representations. Claire is unsure of how she will return to her old life, or if she even wants to, and is determined to take this summer one day at a time. Was once considered to be "everyone's best friend", and is eager to rekindle her former friendship with Kristen Gregory.

**KRISTEN GREGORY:** Beautiful former best friend and soccer team mate of Claire Lyons, who fell into a role in Raft-Newman's social hierarchy rather than actively pursued one. Currently dates Dempsey Solomon, a sometime actor in small indie movies who 'cares about the important stuff'. Seemingly a fish out of water amongst her new friends, but always hosts the best parties. Currently considers her best friend to be Dylan Marvil, although she's eager to reconnect with Claire now that her once best friend has returned.

**DYLAN MARVIL:** Exuberant daughter of critically acclaimed, internationally renowned talk show host Merri-Lee Marvil, and all-around nice girl. Dylan was destined to become a part of the 'in' crowd from the first day she stepped foot on the Raft-Newman campus, and was courted by some of Raft's most eligible bachelors before falling head-over-heels for Derrick Harrington. An easy target to pick off, if one wished to assume head position amongst Raft's A-list students.

**ALICIA RIVERA:** As Raft's most malicious gossiper, Alicia is a girl to be both feared and respected. Her knowledge of Raft's one-hundred and twenty-five students is far-reaching and all-encompassing, and even those who haven't yet had the pleasure of meeting the 'dominatrix of the Day school fear her without question. Currently the closest thing to a best friend Massie Block has, despite her own social aspirations – aspirations that do not involve Massie.

* * *

nb: Obviously, this is AU.

Imagine combining the best of Gossip Girl and The Clique,  
to create something new, exciting, and fresh?  
To remind ourselves that, once upon a time,  
there was something so promising about both series?

This is what I hope to do with this fan-fiction:  
pay homage to both series.

These characters are not my creation;  
I do not claim any rights to them, and am not  
making money from the publication of this writing.

The concept is not wholly of my own making -  
it is, to all intents and purposes,  
a study of the conventional "Gossip Girl" format.  
I wish to recognize the work of Cecily von Ziegesar,  
author of the "Gossip Girl" series.

However, , the Raft-Newman School,  
and any and all modifications made to the characters  
used in this story, are all the product of my work,  
and it is my wish that his be recognised.

Comments, reviews, and **constructive** criticism are  
_all _welcomed, with appreciation and thanks.


	2. HOMECOMING

_i don't know if you notice anything different  
like the leaves on the trees,  
or my clothes all over the floor...  
_

* * *

The Lyons' estate had once been described in _Town and Country_ as 'breathtakingly beautiful and, at once, startlingly austere'. Claire had often scoffed at those words – austere? Her house was _anything_ but _austere_ – but as she stared from tinted windows as a limousine swept her along the winding, tree-lined drive, she looked at the mansion with renewed eyes.

The first thing she noticed was how white the main house was. At All Hallows – the prestigious boarding school she'd been attending for the first two years of her high school education – she'd come to love the familiar, scholarly feel of ivy-covered brick walls and the sunset views that'd she'd had of small town Massachusetts coming to life. The thick beige carpets and beige walls of the dorm rooms were no longer bland to her, but made her think of home, and of the happier times she'd shared with her roommate and her friends, guzzling champagne into the late hours of the morning and dishing over which of them was the school soccer teams biggest fan (not that they watched for the sport; they attended games strictly for the talent). She'd even come to love the crispness in the air, and how comfortable the students became with each other.

In Westchester, her home town, Claire felt as if she always had to be 'on', with her game face set firmly in place. At All Hallows, Claire could relax – attend classes in a rumpled, unironed uniform and cheap flats and not even worry whether she'd receive scorn from her classmates; go to breakfast wearing Sevens, a tank top, hoodie and her fuzzy slippers and not anticipate social repercussions; attend a party in someone's dorm room wearing Victoria's Secret PINK sweats and never think twice about it.

In fact, Claire had shared the best two years of her life with her classmates. It had been a learning curve, but by the end, she'd become a whole new person, with a fresh outlook on life and love. She didn't need to fight for higher status, and she didn't need to play mind games with people. She could laugh at things she found funny without fearing that the people she laughed with (never at) would be offended, or watch movies that were trite or silly just for the sheer entertainment they provided, never fearing that anyone would think less of her for it. She could stay in, avoid a party, and eat Ferrero Rocher's with the girls from her dorm whilst watching bad, old 90's movies, never wondering if they were going to spill the innermost secrets she had shared with them with their entire class. She could be honest. She could be blunt.

And, if she was being honest and blunt, then she could honestly, _bluntly_ say that the Lyons' estate was _perfectly _austere, from the eight, three-storey high white marble columns that lined the front of the building like little imperial soldiers, to the five door garage that sat off to one side, one door open to display Claire's mother's hunter green Corvette.

The building – colonial, All-American, and no doubt still filled with priceless antique vases and gold-leaf wallpaper – went more than a few steps beyond austere, in Claire's eyes. It bordered on grotesque.

God, had it really been two years since Claire had set foot on the estate? Two years since she'd looked her last (well, sort of last) upon the acres of rolling, emerald green grass that stretched, seemingly for infinity, just outside of her bedroom window? It felt like only yesterday that she'd said goodbye to this place and set out for the big, bad world. Looking up at the building – her home? – Claire still felt like the same scared little girl who had left two summers ago, spouting various shallow and/or predictable one-liners to her parents like, "I just need some time to think," and, "I want to discover who I am outside of this shallow little box that we all live in!"

She'd been a little theatrical, in the days BH – Before Hallows. But coming off to her parents as immature and overly dramatic had been far preferable to telling the truth. Whatever the truth was – and Claire had spent a lot of her time at All Hallows trying to figure that out, at first, before she'd realised that she'd stumbled upon an opportunity to truly change herself for the better, and to become the kind of girl she always knew she could be.

"Miss Lyons?"

Claire's head snapped upwards at the sound of Terry's voice. She eyed the driver with a faint glow of nostalgia: he had been like an uncle to her, after all. He had been there for her first day of school, her first boyfriend, her first heartbreak. He had been present at every Lyons Christmas dinner, along with the rest of the staff, most of whom had served the Lyons dutifully for twenty years at least, and some for longer. She had left him behind, too, when she had left Westchester, and she could see now that he had aged significantly in the two years that she'd been gone.

Claire forced a smile. "Yes, Terry?"

"Is everything alright, Miss Lyons?"

She winced. Wise Terry - kind Terry - was never wrong when it came to Claire's thoughts. But these weren't thoughts she was ready to share with him just yet... "Terry, you've known me longer than _I've _known me. You can call me Claire."

"A lot's changed while you've been gone... Claire." Terry smiled, the lines in his once youthful face coming together to form a series of lines, not dissimilar to a diagram of rivers or roads. There was a slight wheeze in his breath now – nothing too serious, Claire hoped – and a minor hobble in his step.

"It has," she agreed, turning back to the house. "There's nothing wrong. I was just... admiring the house. It seems different," she sighed, opening the car door and stepping out into the heady, warm summer air. As she did, she breathed in deeply, trying to savour the fragrance. It had always meant home to her; the scent of freshly-mowed grass, and summer roses, and chamomile tea that floated over the grounds at any given time. She stood awkwardly, though, one hand still holding the car door tightly in a death-grip, Balenciaga purse hanging from the crook of her elbow awkwardly.

The familiarities were not enough to overcome the overwhelming sensation that something was wrong – very, very wrong. She felt at odds with this place, with this world... With the part that she would no-doubt still be expected to play: the part of the diligent daughter, the perfect daughter, of a tough-as-nails CEO and his sweet-as-sugar wife, Trudi.

She was to be the perfect American sweetheart.

"Just one favour, Terry," Claire began, looking over the roof of the shiny black limo to smile sweetly at the chauffer.

He tipped his hat in gentle mocking. "Yes, Miss Claire?"

"From now on," she quipped, slamming the car door and sauntering towards the large whitewash doors with their intimidating, stained-glass window panes; "don't use the limo. It's so... _gauche_."

"Anything you say, Miss Claire." Terry sighed. Apparently, a lot _had _changed in the past two years.

* * *

Lyrics from:  
_"This Is The Thing", _Fink  
used with thanks.

If this chapter seems a bit  
stagnant, I certainly apologise!  
But, I felt like I needed to establish  
the difference between who Claire  
was, and who she is now.  
Hopefully, this little introduction  
has done that... x


	3. GOOD NEWS TRAVELS FAST

_there's a possibility..._

Massie Block sighed, pushing the latest copy of French Vogue away with callous disregard for where it landed. It slid across the baby blue-and-white striped silk bed and landed neatly on the floor beside, cover up; Jessica Stam's creepy, doll-like eyes stared up at Massie, as if the model was imploring her to do something about the absolute debacle that now hung over her day like a storm cloud.

"Are you sure?" Massie huffed down the phone line.

"Utterly sure: Kristen called earlier. She'd just gotten into Grand Central and was waiting for her driver to arrive, when she spotted Claire. She was being followed by Terry, who was wheeling an entire cart of Louis Vuitton luggage. It's time to face it, Mass. Claire is back... Maybe even for good."

Alicia Rivera remained calm under pressure. It was her _thing_. There was almost nothing that could trip Alicia up, and this was something that Alicia had honed over the years: a must, if she was to one day be recognised as the greatest foreign correspondence journalist of her generation (which was, in turn, a must if she were to realise her dream of becoming a CNN anchor...). She would stop at nothing, do anything, and manipulate anyone to get what she wanted, and she would do it all with a demure expression that betrayed nothing of the evil genius that dwelled just below the surface.

"Impossible," Massie hissed. The worst of it was that, up until that point, she had been having a marvellous day. She'd had a Pilates session with her personal trainer, gotten a latte with her boyfriend, Cam Fisher - at which time he'd given her a mix CD of all his new favourite indie bands - and then they'd gone back to the house he lived in with his brother (technically his parents, although they were never home and 'trusted the boys to behave in a manner befitting of the responsibility bestowed on them' – i.e., like adults) and fooled around for two blissful hours before he headed off to soccer practice.

Her life was finally cohesive, her problems concise, and now fate had thrown this spanner in the works. "Maybe she's just back for the summer?"

"Maybe," Alicia intoned, although she sounded doubtful. "Are you going to go talk to her?"

Alicia was fishing. Massie could tell. Her voice had taken on the almost syrupy quality it did when Alicia tried to charm information out of her 'sources'. Alicia, Massie had come to discover, was the kind of girl who delighted in gaining status over others and was only satisfied when others were miserable. Massie had no idea why, though. She simply figured it stemmed from some psychological need to prove that she was more than just a pretty face.

"We'll see." Massie kept her tone casual, standing so that she could move to the gilded, full-length mirror that hung on one glossy taupe wall. She examined her appearance carefully, looking for anything that could be construed as 'out of place'.

Massie's hair (Cam called it the colour of dark chocolate, a trait which Massie found infinitely adorable) was artfully messy. Two thin braids led back to a seemingly dishevelled bun; these braid offset her bright, alert caramel eyes and glowing white smile. She bared her teeth.

Massie and Claire had once spent an entire day grinning at their reflections like idiots, trying to perfect their smiles. Massie's had morphed into the perfect combination of genuine delight, gentle mocking, and downright evil: many had come to fear her smile as much as her frowns.

She was thin; thinner, even, than she had been before Claire's unexpected, unannounced departure... Maybe a little too thin, here and there, but what were Wonderbra's for, anyway? She was tall, too, now; swathed in a gauzy, dusty rose silk top and a tight, dark destroyed denim shorts. She looked... good, she concluded. Easily a nine-point-eight, and perhaps even a nine-point-nine, if she cleaned up her eyeliner and spritzed herself once more with Chanel No. 19. But she wasn't sure she was ready to face Claire – perfect (or not so perfect, if the rumours were to be believed...) little Claire, who had always made Massie feel contrived.

Claire had never needed to invest the same effort Massie had, and yet Massie's most concerted efforts would come up looking trite and staid next to just-rolled-out-of-bed Claire Lyons.

"I'll probably go see her tomorrow," Massie announced, falling backwards onto her bed, one eye still on her reflection as she watched herself; admired the way her not-too-pouty, not-too-thin lips shaped the words, and how her brows furrowed beautifully as she considered the poignancy of what she'd said (if there was any). She would go see Claire tomorrow – she would – and Claire would realise that what she had left behind would never be hers again.

* * *

Claire moved the heavy, red silk curtains to the side, watching the two headlights projecting onto the ancient willows, oaks and evergreens that lined the driveway; they provided privacy as well as 'majesty' (her mother's landscaper of choice had picked that word, not Claire).

The Mini Cabriolet - top down, Katy Perry's latest infectious pop tune blasting from the radio - skidded to a stop at the end of the driveway, fishtailing just slightly as it made a wide arc around the fountain where koi fish swam lazily.

Seconds later, Claire watched as Kristen Gregory – her sometime best friend and soccer team mate – bounded up the steps and then, with great conviction, began to lean on the doorbell. Great chimes sounded throughout the house, each one intensifying Claire's feeling of absolute dread. She had not looked forward to facing her friends (former friends?) and particularly not Kristen. After all, she'd seen Kristen the day before she'd left – they'd gone for a jog together in Westchester Community Park, each with only one headphone plugged in, laughing joyfully about... someone? Someone named Kemp, as Claire recalled, who had professed his undying love for Kristen that very morning. But at that point, Claire hadn't been sure that all the gears would set in motion – hadn't been sure that she was really leaving – and so hadn't thought to say anything.

Massie and Alicia... well, they wouldn't understand. To the two of them, it was all games. They ranked each other on everything, both struggling to be girl-on-top, but with Kristen things had always been so much easier. There was none of the expectations that came with the others.

In fact, Claire had regretted leaving Kristen the most.

She heaved a sigh, turning on her heel and stalking across the high-sheen wooden floors. Her bare feet made barely a sound, carrying her swiftly down the stairs, two at a time. Within moments, and all too soon, she was standing before the hulking front doors. Claire paused for time, wiping her sweaty palms on her beat-up True Religions before opening the door. Kristen stood, mouth agape, behind it. Her eyes met Claire's, and then slowly travelled up and down her one-time best friend's form. Claire watched, as first shock and then, slowly, an expression of pure intrigue registered on Kristen's face.

"Claire?" Kristen swept her long bangs from her face in a familiar gesture.

"Have I really changed that much?" Claire bared her teeth in a lopsided grin, hoping that Kristen wasn't offended by her weak attempt at humour, and secretly longing for the days of yore; the days of All Hallows, when she had never worried about the unnecessary act of censoring herself.

Kristen scoffed. "Uh, yea, you have."

"You too," Claire replied. It was the truth. Kristen was taller, her face more mature. Eyeliner had been carefully smudged about her lash line, a light gloss slicked on her lips, and she wore her hair different – hanging about her face instead of caught in her regulation ponytail. Even her clothing was different: badly-fitting jeans and striped sweaters had been replaced with short-shorts and a loose-fitting, charcoal cropped tee. Bangles jangled and clashed on either arm.

"Do I get a hug?"

Claire smiled gratefully as Kristen leaned in, surrounding Claire in a cloud of Clinique Happy and Herbal Essences Classic shampoo. As they pulled away, Claire noticed that Kristen still wore her braided friendship bracelet amongst the many others cluttering her arms. Claire, too, wore hers; predominantly because she'd never truly thought to take it off.

"You're not mad?" Claire queried, leaning against the doorframe. Her eyebrows pulled together in confusion.

"_Furious_," Kristen growled, crossing her legs and arms awkwardly as she stood on the front porch, illuminated perfectly by the light that spilled from the foyer onto the front porch. "But," she continued, "I got over it. I just figured, you know, you needed to leave and you'd come back when you were ready. I mean, people don't just leave their home and everything for no reason, right?" Kristen smiled beatifically.

Claire, however, shifted uncomfortably. "Right," she murmured in agreement, not quite meeting Kristen's eye. That piercing green gaze had forced many secrets out of her before, and she was sure that despite the hiatus, they would still have the same effect.

"So, when I saw you this morning at Grand Central, I figured..." Kristin shrugged, her sentence trailing off. "I don't know what I figured. I just wanted to come and see you and... I don't know!" Kristen laughed, carefree as always. "I guess I thought we'd catch up? Do you need help unpacking?"

Claire glanced over her shoulder, as if she was looking at a clock; in reality, she was just stalling until she could come up with a suitable excuse. When she looked back, the expression of hope had not faded from Kristen's face; her smile remained bright, her eyes not the slightest hint clouded. "Maybe not tonight," she replied. "But tomorrow... Coffee sounds like a definite option."

"Coffee it is!" Kristen cried, uncrossing her legs and beginning to walk backwards across the porch. "But you're staying? Like, for summer and school and everything...? You're back, aren't you?"

Claire nodded. Her resignation (thankfully) was not evident to Kristen, who now had one foot in her car and one on the gravel of the driveway. "Back for good," she repeated. "For summer, and school, and... everything..." It was the "everything" – the inescapable, intangible, and undeniable everything – that Claire feared the most.

The last time she'd played along with the Westchester game (the "_everything..._") it had spent her life spinning out of control, and left her with absolutely no one to turn to. A feeling of dread and foreboding was spreading through her limbs like wildfire and filling her with doubt; a doubt that told her she wouldn't handle things well this time, either.

* * *

Lyrics from:  
"_Possibility", _Lykke Li  
used with thanks.

**I do not claim ownership to the Clique series,  
****it's characters, etc. I do not claim ownership.  
The Clique series is the work of Lisi Harrison.  
My writings are merely an homage to hers. **


	4. MEET AND GREET

"Claire!" Kristen waved from her seat at a quiet, dimly-lit corner table. Her face, previously expressing something just as gloomy as this dark, terribly-lit cafe on the second floor of the Westchester Mall, was now alight with excitement.

Claire began to weave through the maze of tables. Most were quite low; Claire found this irritating. Why was the decor in cafes these days so ridiculous? Then again, Claire found everything about cafes annoying and completely bogus. She found that the cafe crowd generally comprised of fakes and those who came to be seen, but she didn't know that the bourgeois had joined in as well.

Kristen had, quite sensibly, chosen a booth in the corner, where the table was of an acceptable height and the light was decent enough that you could at least tell what you were drinking by more than just taste alone.

Claire's step faltered when she saw the girl sitting across from Kristen; the girl who sat, smile fixed across her mouth but eyes clouded with uncertainty. She was almost unrecognizable – _almost _– but for the bright shock of pin-straight red hair that hung like curtains either side of her elfin face. In the two years that Claire had been gone, Dylan Marvil had made a lot of changes.

Dylan shuffled, suddenly uncomfortable. This, she was certain, had been a bad idea. She'd had an inkling that it would be from the start, despite Kristen's insistence that it would be 'amazing' if the two girls were to meet and at least bond over their common ground (Kristen). And now, watching Claire's smile fall (although, only momentarily; to Claire's credit it returned seconds later, brighter than ever) Dylan felt like an absolute and complete idiot. What had possessed her to say yes?

Meeting Claire Lyons was a daunting process. It had taken Dylan hours to settle upon a dark grey hoodie, cream wife-beater, and high-waisted Anna Sui skirt. Last night, the outfit had seemed casual and charming. "Perfect," Dylan had assured herself. But, as she watched Claire advance upon them, her smile almost blinding, Dylan felt like an undressed slob.

It was as if Kristen could sense what Dylan was thinking. She fired off a text. **DON'T WORRY**, Kristen had written. **I CAN C U FREAKING OUT! XX**

Freaking out was about right.

"Hey." Claire and Kristen hugged quickly before Claire took her seat at the head of the table, her back to the rest of the cafe and any passers-by. "Trying to keep a low-profile," Claire explained when Kristen shot her a questioning look. "At least for the rest of the summer."

"Good luck," Kristen laughed. "The Westchester wires are already buzzing about you. You should hear the rumours. You're pregnant, you got kicked out of school, your family lost all its money and now you have to go to the public school... you're on drugs..." Kristen turned to Dylan. "Did I miss any?"

"You came back for Cam," Dylan finished, watching as Claire winced at the name. "Although I think Massie's trying to shut that one down – I don't know if you know, but she and Cam have been dating... Well, pretty much since you left."

Claire nodded sheepishly. "Oh, I knew."

The trio fell into an uncomfortable silence as Claire began to peruse the menu and Dylan and Kristen sipped at their ridiculously large bone dry caps, neither one of them being the first to speak.

Dylan wondered how it had felt for Claire to leave and later discover that her best friend/worst enemy had stolen her boyfriend practically overnight. If Kristen (not that she was Dylan's /enemy, by any means) ever tried to steal Derrick, Dylan knew she would be devastated. Worse than that, she would be inconsolable. She wouldn't be able to think straight for weeks, and her mind would be constantly attuned to channels of betrayal and revenge. But, in her infinite grace, Claire had moved on with her life – or, at least, it seemed that way.

Dylan had admired Claire from a far for as long as she could remember. Not from some secretive love, or some strange adoration – although, her admiration from Claire could be said to have stemmed from both of those things, psychologically. Dylan simply admired Claire because she was... perfect. From her beautiful face, to her beautiful mind, every aspect of Claire's being was flawless. So, in that respect, Dylan hadn't really been alone in her admiration, because the entire town had admired her from a far since she the day she was born. Sadie Herald, who had been born on the same day in the same hospital, had often complained that a day that was meant to be her day became Claire's day.

It was true.

In grade school, everyone had chosen to attend Claire's party instead of Sadie's, until Claire had been old enough to realise what had occurred and chose to host conjoined parties with Sadie (unsuccessful) or have her party on a different day. Claire was sung to at school, given cake and presents by her 'fans', and mentioned during the school announcements the morning of her birthday, until she asked for all of that to stop – Sadie, it seemed, was prepared to change schools if this went on much longer. It was nothing personal against Claire, she attested; she was just sick of being put on the backburner.

In the seventh grade, Claire had formed her own little group. She and her best friend at the time, Massie, were going through that _Mean Girls_-stage that every middle schooler seems to go through at some point (and that some never grow out of). They had carefully selected their new group of friends, based on what they could offer the group. _Keep your friends close, _Massie had often been heard to trill, _and your enemies closer!_

Alicia Rivera, Massie's _other_ best friend, had been a no-brainer. As had over-achiever Kristen, and the prettiest girl in their entire grade (and maybe even the entire school): Olivia Ryan. Dylan had been the last picked, and by her own reckoning it had more to do with the fact that they'd needed even numbers than by any real trait Dylan could offer them – except, of course, for her mother's global fame and intense wealth, and the fact that paparazzi followed Dylan's limo to school most mornings.

But, despite being in the same social group as Claire and attending the same events, Dylan and Claire had never really grown close.

Claire watched Dylan sip diligently at her drink, wondering how one person could change so much in two years. The chubby girl with frizzy red hair and purple braces that Claire remembered was gone, replaced by a slender beauty with perfect hair and teeth. Even her clothing – once tossed together with reckless abandon – comprised of the kind of understatedly elegant basics that cost a fortune.

"Dylan, I hardly recognised you," Claire admitted, gesturing to a nearby waiter. The waiter made it to them double-time, a charming smile smeared across his face. Claire knew his type all too well: designer stubble, fitted flannel shirt, skinny jeans and Converse. He was probably Urban Outfitter's biggest fan. She'd run into boys just like him – well, considerably more wealthy, she judged, as none of them would dream of getting a _job_ – at boarding school and knew just how they operated. Claire smiled her sweetest smile, not breaking eye contact once. "Could I please have the buckwheat pancakes with the fruit compote and a cap with skim, no sugar? Are you girl's hungry?" They both shook their heads. "Thanks."

He took his time before sauntering off to the kitchen. Claire watched him go, surveying his frame – he was cute, after all – before turning back to the two other girls. She dropped her menu onto the table. "Not to be rude, but you're hardly the girl I remember you being."

"Braces had to amount to something," Kristen joked, winking at Dylan across the table. Dylan's posture remained perfectly ramrod, at odds with the tinkling musicality of her laughter.

"I guess," Dylan trilled back, but her eyes were dark with something more. Something, Claire guessed, that hinted at how tired she was of being the fall girl for every single one of their jokes. Claire could sympathise; once upon a time, it had been her, smiling beatifically at every single insulting joke they made and wishing they would just _stop_.

Claire knew now where that anger – that teasing – stemmed from, and it was jealousy; pure, unadulterated jealousy. And who wouldn't envy Dylan Marvil?


	5. UPDATE

**HOME PAGE**, **PROFILES**, **EVENTS**, **ARCHIVES**,** RSS**

Don't forget to submit stories, gossip, or photos.

BREAKING NEWS!

It was a not-so-tearful homecoming for former Westchester It Girl **Claire Lyons** (pictured) yesterday. Though she was met by a chauffeur and a shiny limo at Grand Central, the Westchester welcome wagon was notably absent. Did Claire really leave her friends behind when she ran away that fateful day two years ago? It seems that some just can't forgive a girl for leaving without saying goodbye.

_However... _My sources do tell me that Claire met her former best friend – the deliciously nefarious **Kristen Gregory** – for coffee this morning at new hot-spot, _!_. The two were accompanied by **Dylan Marvil **(also pictured); a somewhat surprising turn of events, considering that Dylan and Claire aren't even Facebook friends. Has Claire discovered that her standards must be lowered if she wishes to make new alliances?

Notably absent from the meeting were gal pals **Alicia Rivera** and **Massie Block**.

I can't help but wonder how Claire's former boyfriend and Massie's current beau **Cam Fisher** is taking the news of Claire's return? Perhaps we'll find out tonight, at Claire's unofficial homecoming party – oops! Was that supposed to be a surprise, **Mrs. Lyons**?

You should know by now that there are no surprises in Westchester, New York. Even your daughter's sudden disappearance was a highly anticipated event (of course, I suspected rehab).

**Did you get an invite? **Something tells me this is going to be the party to kick start the social season, so click here for the deets...

Love you long time,  
Madam 355

* * *

Claire's heart sank as she read the blast. Claire's pet peeve—among boys who wore polo shirts, people who has a 'usual' order at a cafe, and pre-teens in high heels—was surprise parties. She tried to remain calm in the face of this new, fresh hell and reassure herself that it was false and that she wouldn't, in fact, be made to suffer through the public embarrassment of a welcome home to-do. This was a short-lived reassurance quickly crushed by her mother's shrill voice drifting loftily up the stairs.

"Darling!" she trilled. "She'll love it!"

Unless it was a giant banner that read "PARTY CANCELLED, GO HOME!" that Trudi Lyons intended to hang over the front gate, Claire doubted very much that she would _love it. _On the other hand, she considered, sighing as she dragged herself up and off the bed (why did her mother's hair brained schemes have a tendency of coming to fruition just as Claire was getting _comfortable_?) and towards the second-floor landing...

Well, on the other hand, at least her mother was glad to see her home. There had been many occasion where she'd been not quite as thrilled and had spent entire weeks chastising Claire for her public besmirching of the good Lyons name.

"Mother?" she called tentatively, leaning her weight on the beautiful cherry wood railing.

Her mother appeared in the foyer, her neck craned to see her daughter. "There's my angel!" she cried, one hand reaching upwards self-consciously to fluff at her elaborate curls. "I thought you were out, darling?"

"I'm not." Claire smiled as sweetly as she could. "I went out this—I had coffee with the girls this morning, mother. I'm home now, and I'm enjoying some _much needed _R-and-R."

Claire's mother smiled beatifically, every inch the perennial ditz of New England society. She waved her arms—encased in a bedazzled kaftan so as to hide the slight fleshiness that came with aging—in a grand, familiar gesture, still grinning like a fool and blissfully ignorant to the fact that she had missed Claire's point. "I have a surprise for you!" she sing-songed, and swiftly touched her index finger to her nose. "Come and see!"

Accepting the heavy reality of the situation was not easy for Claire but, as she gazed down upon her mother's happy little smile, she realised that she couldn't deny her her fun. She would suffer through the horrors certain to come, and smile gratefully at her mother throughout it all.

It was what a good daughter would do.

The breath was knocked from Claire's lungs as she reached the bottom step. The huge picture windows that usually showcased stunning panoramic views of Westchester and surrounds had been mangled.

"Did a bridal shop implode and scatter its inventory on our backyard?"

Trudi didn't take the slight to heart. She threw an arm around Claire and pulled her towards the back entrance, which was now shrouded in something white and fluffy. Evidently, Claire's mother had picked one of three themes: the first was probably clouds, as it was common knowledge that Claire loved clouds.

The second, Claire guessed, reaching out to touch another oversized, misshapen lump of lint, could have had something to do with heaven—perhaps her mother intended to unfurl a giant banner that said 'WELCOME HOME, MY ANGEL!' at the stroke of midnight as she had planned to do at Claire's Sweet Sixteen (an event that had never actually occurred due to Claire's absence).

The final theme might have been... foam? Antarctica? Was Claire expected to dress up as some kind of snow beast for the festivities?

"It's beautiful!" Claire announced. "But... what's it meant to _be_?"

"It's snow, silly!" Trudi giggled, pulling her daughter closer. "I know how much you must have missed white Christmases living at that horrendous boarding school—" she wrinkled her nose at the mere mention of the place, "—so we're having Christmas in June!"

This logic, satisfactory though it sounded, was greatly flawed and Claire couldn't even censor herself before her criticism slipped. "Mom, All Hallows is just outside of Boston, _Massachusetts._"

"Well honey, I know. You don't think I'd send my daughter somewhere without researching it first, do you?"

"It snows in Massachusetts, Mom. Massachusetts literally _borders _with New York so you can pretty much assume that whatever weather New York is having, they're getting the same."

To Trudi's credit, her smile didn't falter once. "Well, Christmas in July is still a _thing_—people will get it, don't worry!"

Claire was worried. Claire was incredibly, terribly, intensely worried about all of the trials the night ahead of her would bring with it.

* * *

Dylan shifted uncomfortably in her 'snow suit'—ostensibly a parka, a pair of short shorts, a tank top, a pair of low-cut UGG boots and some ear muffs perched like sunglasses atop her head—and glanced at the faces around her. They were all familiar, but sometimes Dylan felt that the longer she knew people, the less she really _knew _them.

"Here, babe," Derrick Harrington muttered, sneaking up behind her to slip his arm around her waist in a gesture that she found irresistible. He held a cocktail aloft. "It's mango—I know how much you love mango."

Dylan took the drink, too grateful that he'd done something thoughtful—_for her_—to point out that she absolutely hated mango. She reasoned with herself that the subject had never come up and that he must have gotten her confused with someone else, then felt nauseous as her inner monologue began to question who he had her mixed up with. "Thank you, D."

"You're welcome, baby."

"I was thinking," Dylan began as she took her first, tiny sip from the hateful mango concoction. "Maybe we should go away next weekend. Take some time off and just relax; the two of us, in your dad's cabin, with nothing else to worry about but what to do with all the _free time_."

Derrick's arms tightened around Dylan's waist, his breath hot on her neck. "You're a little bit naughty tonight," he whispered into her ear, before placing a quick little kiss on her jaw. "I like this side of you."

"I won't be happy until you like every side of me."

"Babe, I already do."

From somewhere to their left came a retching sound that the two lovebirds didn't notice. Massie Block and Alicia Rivera had set up camp nearby—Massie did so with the aim of spying on Derrick and Dylan's doomed-from-the-fore relationship but Alicia just did whatever Massie told her to—and were currently snapping photos with their top-of-the-range phones, with the intent of forwarding them to Madam 355's deliciously evil gossip blog.

"It's not even a summer fling," Massie decreed, trying to catch Dylan in the most unflattering light possible.

"You don't think so?" Alicia asked, more focused on catching Derrick's abs from the best angle. "They seem kind of cute."

"Cute does not a solid relationship make," Massie murmured wisely. She gave up on her mission—no matter which angle she shot from, there wasn't an ounce of cellulite on Dylan's butt—and tossed her phone onto a nearby glass side table in disgust. "I'm going to find Cam."

She wound through the party goers—most of whom she could guarantee Claire had never spoken to in her _life_—and found Cam sitting next to none other than Claire herself.

Claire's perfect sky blue eyes clouded with something indistinct when she saw Massie's approaching figure. Massie had learnt long ago that Claire was impossible to read when caught off-guard and an utter blank slate when she didn't want her emotions to show. It was just one of the reasons she'd made such a tabloid sensation—the camera couldn't catch her in a foul mood if it tried.

"Massie," she called cordially, waving her over. "I was about to come find you."

_No you weren't,_ Massie thought bitterly, taking a seat of Cam's lap. His body grew stiff (and not in the good way) as soon as her skin came into contact with his. He shifted uncomfortably beneath her, intensifying her bad mood, his hands placed awkwardly on either side of his thighs; she was quick to lift them into her lap and held them tightly in her own. "Well," she said, smiling icily, "I guess I found you first."

"I guess you did."

The two stared each other's faces, trying to gauge how much the years had changed them. Claire's face was the same—perhaps a little older, a little wiser, a little freer of the camouflaging makeup that she'd once worn—as it had been the day she'd left. Angelic, beautiful, and innocent: a face above contempt.

Except contempt was the only thing Massie felt for Claire anymore.

Claire looked at Massie's face and saw nothing of the girl she'd left behind two years ago, but for the pain that shone deep in those perfect amber eyes. She wished she could explain everything to Massie—explain to her why she'd left, what she'd done, where she'd been and why she'd come back now—but Massie couldn't possibly understand it all.

"Well now," Massie said, breaking the silence. "I haven't gotten my hug yet, Claire. We always have a hug for a sister in need."

"We do," Claire admitted. She leant forward and wrapped her arms around Massie's painfully skinny frame, her hand accidentally brushing against Cam's hair. His eyes met hers as she tucked her head over Massie's bony shoulder, and for a moment, she wondered if she would ever be able to call these people her friends—if she would ever _want _to call these people her friends—ever again.

* * *

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BREAKING NEWS!

The night of Claire Lyons Winter Wonderland Welcome Home party will certainly go down in history as one of Westchester's most fabulous _and_ absurd to date—Christmas in July? How very Middle America of you, Trudi Lyons! Though I must say that the "FOR ALL THE WHITE CHRISTMASES YOU'VE MISSED!" banner (pictured) was a tad grotesque... You _do _know it snows in Boston, don't you?

I'm told that the party reached a staggering one-thousand strong (not bad, for a last minute soiree) and that guests of all ages were in attendance, with each clamouring for the hostess' attentions. They were, however, mostly rebuffed and forced to drown their sorrows in an open bar.

The perpetually indifferent It girl spent the night hob-knobbing with once-BFF **Massie Block** and former flame **Cam Fisher**, and took a brief dance break sometime around one to perform a stirring rendition of "Toxic" with gal pals **Kristen Gregory** and **Layne Abeley**... on a nearby table. The performance was complete to raucous applause and a lack of broken limbs—a good night for all.

PS:

Did anyone else notice **Dylan Marvil** and **Derrick Harrington** swaying to the music in a dark, secluded corner far away from prying eyes? Evidently, they weren't far enough from prying eyes. You can find the photos in the **'Derrick & Dylan: Why PDA Should Be Outlawed'** gallery. Keep up with the sneaky pics, darlings—it leaves me free to have some real fun with my evenings.

Hugs and kisses,  
Madam 355


End file.
